Pocket's persistant peeing problem, perfect pictures, & place

On Monday, January 11, I will be going to the vet for my regular check up and to discuss my persistent peeing problem. I must admit, the prospect of a pee pow wow has me perplexed. I am perturbed with the prospect of lying prostrate on a couch while some psychiatrist probes my pained psyche to pin down if my peeing is provoked by being weened from the teet too early, abandonment issues, submission issues, or, Rainbow Bridge help me, having been overly examined by a creepy elderly vet with cold hands while just a pup.

It has been suggested by many a wise pup that my persistent peeing problem can be puzzled out by a pill prescription. This could very well be true, but I, Pocket, would propel that pill from my mouth like a prop plane. If Papa prefers Pocket to take a persistent peeing problem solving pill he best peel some Prosciutto, perfectly place Prosciutto over pill, pop in Pocket's portal and purchase his paws over Pocket's pie-hole until the pellet has passed Pocket's perfect pharynx. Papa will postulate if pill popping worked by looking for less pees in Pocket's perfectly penciled paragraphs.

Barking of things that are perfectly penciled we all know that no one can match our Zoe Boe's Mom Connie when it comes to drawing, but in our extended family we may have found a dog sketcher to replace her when she finally decides to step away from the easel. On Christmas Granddaughter #1, Mackenzie Perkins, presented to Foley and I her interpretation of us done in paint.


At the tender age of nine I think she shows outstanding promise (Foley is also nine and she ain't painted nuthin'.) While Foley loves it, secretly, I love it more, because, if you study it closely, you will notice that I'M BIGGER. That's because I know I hold a special place in her heart, and each time I look at her picture I'm reminded of the special place she has in mine.

As I write about perfect things and perfect thoughts I am reminded of my perfect place. Some nights, as we all lie together on our soft bed, with Foley under the quilt at the end, a spot from which she can hop off and download herself for further mischief without waking anyone, Mommy and Daddy, who like to read at night, will have sleep's dark and slient gate call for them simultaneously. When that happens Mommy, who sleeps on the right will roll over towards the edge of the bed and Daddy will roll over toward her, and put his arm around her, and his head half on hers and half on the pillow.

And where am I? Snuggled right between them, up against Mommy's lower back, and Daddy's tummy, and it's so nice there, so warm, so gentle. I don't worry there, not about anything, because we are all together, safe in our shared body hear, breathing quietly together, where nothing can harm us. Eventually Daddy rolls over, and Foley comes wandering under the covers, but I'm still protected by the warmth of that little moment when it's just me, Mommy and Daddy cuddled up against the world.